


10 Things Henry Winchester Never Did

by rebaobsessions



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Henry-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-22 19:52:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8298374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebaobsessions/pseuds/rebaobsessions
Summary: Henry survives Abaddon, and after convincing his grandsons, decides to go back home.This fic is going to be centered around two what-if scenarios:1) What if he made it into the past?2) What if he didn't?In each chapter, Henry will do something he never got a chance to do--either in the present or the past.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize in advance for the long gaps that will likely occur between updates.  
> A big thank you to my beta EtchNya.  
> I hope you enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the prologue, which sets the scene. Each following chapter will have a theme.

Henry pauses, bloody hand stalled at the end of a painted line, staring at the half-finished sigil branding the door before him. He was going home. He had no idea what awaited him in the past, but he was certain this was the right thing to do. He had to at least _try_ to fix things…

“Henry?” his younger grandson ( _grandson!_ ) suddenly hovered at his shoulder, “Are you sure you’re ready for this? Do you need to sit down?”

“Yeah, man,” his _other_ grandson (it was still strange) called from elsewhere in the motel, “You just recovered from being impaled by a chick’s _hand_.”

Henry tilted his head toward the Winchester boys, “I am completely recovered; you needn’t worry. Medicine is certainly more advanced in the future.”

Sam gave his grandfather a side-long look and unimpressed huff. Before the young man could begin another of his lectures, Dean appeared at Henry’s other side. “I still don’t like this idea,” the burly hunter grunted.

Sam nodded in agreement, “Are you sure you want to try this? I mean, yeah, we saved the day… but we have no idea what effect you going back in time is going to have.”

Swallowing hard, Henry focused on dipping his hand back into the bowl of spell ingredients. “I… I have to. I have to _try_ ; for your sake, for John’s sake, and for Millie’s.” The Man of Letters resolutely resumed sketching the sigil onto the door, doing his best to ignore the pained looks the brother’s shared over his head. _I don’t want to know,_ he tried to convince himself. _Whatever bad news or new argument they are considering revealing… I don’t want to know._

“I hope you’re right, Henry,” Sam finally sighed. “I really want to believe you can change things.”

Henry nodded stiffly, “I will do my best to alter the course of history without rupturing the space-time continuum.”

Dean frowned and did a double take, before bursting into a grin, “Did you just make a reference?”

As he turned to set the spell bowl aside, Henry gave his grandson a weak smile.

Suddenly sober, Dean reached out and stalled him, “Listen… Thanks. For everything you did while you were here. We couldn’t have done it without you. And… well, I probably shouldn’t be saying anything, but… watch out for Azazel.”

“It was my pleasure to meet both of you,” he turned slightly back towards Sam, “and to aid in stopping Abaddon.” He met Dean’s intense gaze, “And I will remember that name. You have my word.”

After exchanging a round of farewell handshakes, Henry found himself standing before the sigil, the first syllables of the spell already on his tongue. He almost missed that last thing Sam murmured before the sigil blazed to life: “Good luck.”

* * *

Henry landed hard on his hands and knees, and groaned at the sharp pain lancing through his side in greeting. The last thing he needed was for his wound to reopen. Swallowing hard, he braced himself against the wall and eased himself to his feet.

The Men of Letters’ hallway was eerily silent. A moment of panic shot through him as he realized where and when he was. Injury forgotten, the Winchester darted down the hall to the initiation chamber. Before he consciously knew it, he was at the side of the nearest Man of Letters, feeling for a pulse. Henry breathed a sigh of relief at the faint flutter of life.

Suddenly the man convulsed and grabbed Henry’s hand. “Henry?” he gasped desperately, “Where—Abaddon… Key…” he trailed off coughing.

“Everything is alright, Mr. Ganem,” Henry assured him, “I have the key and Abaddon is trapped in her vessel under a ton of concrete in the future. She’s gone.”

“Josie?”

Henry blinked back tears. He had been trying very hard to forget about that these past few days. “I couldn’t save her,” his voice broke.

Below him, Larry Ganem squeezed his hand reassuringly. “You did your best, Henry. Thank you.”

Henry gave the bloodied man a weak smile, but it fell flat after only a few seconds.

_Now what?_

* * *

Henry groaned, rolling onto his side and grasping the aching back of his head. He blinked his eyes open, but was presented with the unsettling view of floating white spots. _It would appear I am temporarily blind,_ he sighed to himself.

“Henry?” a worried voice sounded off to the side. “Henry, are you alright?” a hand gently touched his shoulder. Henry grunted in the affirmative, but that did not seem to reassure the owner of the voice. _Why does he sound so familiar?_ “Dean, he was right in front of the sigil when the spell backfired. I think he reopened his wound.” _Oh. That’s right… Sam. Wait… The spell backfired?_

“Son of a bitch,” Henry’s other grandson cursed.

“Hey, do you think you can move to one of the beds?” Sam gently squeezed his shoulder.

Slowly rolling onto his knees, Henry nodded, “Yes. Although, while I feel capable of moving, I seem to be temporarily blind. Can you give me a hand?”

Sam looped Henry’s arm over his shoulder, “Of course.”

Disregarding a stubbed toe, the majority of the journey to the bed went without a hitch. Once Henry was settled on the edge of the bed, Dean appeared at his side. “I’m going to take a look at your side,” the hunter explained as he tugged his grandfather’s shirt up. “You’re bleeding all over the place again.”

A hiss of breath escaped between Henry’s lips as Dean prodded at the wound, “So I gather.”

After a moment of tense silence, Sam sighed. “It doesn’t look like you’ll be able to use that spell to go back.”

Dean clasped the Man of Letter’s shoulder as he withdrew his focus from the wound, “I’m sorry man.”

Henry gave the brothers a weak smile, but it fell flat after only a few seconds.

_Now what?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter 1: Hugs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry gets and gives some much-needed affection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay with posting; life has been insane.

Henry moved through his morning routine in a haze, only registering the familiar motions on an instinctual level. It may appear as though he was reaching down the sugar and pulling out the cream, savoring the smell of coffee in the air, but he wasn’t. Not really. His mind was in 2013, with his grandsons. His head was swimming with demons and angels and the apocalypse. It was full of fear for his wife, for his son, and for his son’s future wife and sons. He had a second chance, here and now. He _couldn’t_ mess up.

“Good morning, dear,” a warm familiar voice sounded from behind him, pulling him from his gloomy thoughts. That was right; he had a second chance and he was going to enjoy every second of it.

Henry turned around with an honest smile on his face and greeted his wife with a tender kiss on her cheek, “Good morning, Millie.”

“Did your meeting go alright?” she asked quietly, sensing something was off. Oh, his _beautiful_ , wonderful, _intuitive_ wife. He had missed her.

Henry felt his smile fade a little, and sighed. He could never manage an outright lie to Millie. Never had and doubtfully ever would. So, he told the truth—or at least a version of the truth, “It was… rough. There was… a lot of conflict,” he chose his words carefully, “and it was far from ideal, but… it turned out alright in the end.” He huffed a small half-laugh, “And I did learn a great deal.”

Millie gave him one of her beaming smiles, “Well, at least _that’s_ good.” She stepped into his space and wrapped him in a warm hug, pressing her cheek against his. She let out a sigh, “Just so long as you come home safe.”

Momentarily at a loss for words, Henry simply returned the embrace as tightly as he could, attempting to convey his gratitude. _Oh,_ his beautiful intuitive wife. She _always_ gave him all her support and she _always_ knew so much more than he thought. He smiled to himself as he inhaled the scent of her shampoo.

 _Never_ underestimate Millie Winchester.

Movement caught his eye, so he turned his head to see John, still clad in his pajamas, standing in the doorway, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. Henry gave his wife one last squeeze and grinned at his son, “Hey there, sport. Are you planning to go to school like that?”

John scrunched up his nose at the thought, staring at his father like he was off his rocker. Millie chuckled quietly to herself as she wrestled the coffee pot off the maker. Henry shook his head slightly, crouching down in front of his sleepy son, reaching out to clasp him gently on the side of his face. John continued to look at him a little strangely, no doubt wondering what was up with his dad on this terrible-no-good-rotten Monday, and Henry couldn’t help smile even larger.

It was normal. It was _right_. Henry had a beautiful second chance he was never meant to have, and he was going to make it count.

“Come on, son,” Henry stood, scooping tiny John into his arms as he went, “Let’s go get you ready.”

His reply was faint unintelligible mumbling directed into his shoulder.

Henry only hugged him tighter.

* * *

Henry was frozen, staring at the coffee maker. It hadn’t been that long since he had been stranded in the future. Since he had lost his wife, his son, and his future with them. The grief had been almost crippling at first. He had stayed in the bunker, and later with Kevin—the kid who was apparently a prophet—and simply focused on getting through each new day. But _now_....

Henry had come to realize that he couldn’t afford to _not_ be involved. His grandsons were hell-bent on shutting the gates of hell, and at first he had supported them. He had been thrilled at the prospect. Think about it: _no more demons_ … Who wouldn’t want that? But he could see what it was doing to them—to _both_ of them—and couldn’t help wishing that they’d _slow down_.

However, possibly the worst revelation he’d had since picking up the torch (so to speak) and venturing into the field was that _this—_ _all_ of this— was normal. Being friends with an angel (who was actually under evil angel mind control) and a demon (who… um… _what?_ )—sure! Going to quests to find ancient tablets that supposedly held God’s own instruction manual? Check! Even risking life and limb to shut hell off for good… it was _normal_. His grandsons barely batted an eye about the whole thing.

And that just seemed fundamentally wrong.

“Whoa there, gramps,” his eldest grandson’s voice startled Henry out of his thoughts, “What’d that thing do to you?”

Henry was fairly certain he had jumped several feet into the air, but he tried to appear normal when he turned around and glared at Dean, “I do wish you would stop calling me that.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean shifted and smirked, “It fits you too well.”

Henry huffed a sigh, and turned back to the coffee pot, this time poking at it in a half-hearted imitation of preparing to use it. Oh, his grandsons were something, alright. They were surly, protective, and secretive. They were downright annoying.

“Listen, Henry…” Dean started hesitantly. Henry froze, intent on his grandson’s words, but knowing not to turn around. He wouldn’t risk breaking a fragile moment when Dean so rarely said what he felt. After a long moment, the experienced hunter merely sighed, “Never mind, man. Forget I said anything.”

Henry turned and caught sight of Dean’s face. It was far more open and emotionally raw than the man-out-of-time had ever seen. “Dean,” he called before his grandson could disappear, “I know you aren’t fond of talking, but if you ever need to, I’m here. Anything you tell me will go no farther.”

For a moment Dean seemed torn. He hovered a few feet from the hall, half turned away from Henry. It looked like he was warring between annoyance, indignation, appreciation, and some form of emotional pain (which made sense; his brother _was_ coughing up blood and his best friend _did_ just beat him half to death). After a moment, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath before striding up to Henry and clasping him on the shoulder.

It was the closest thing to a hug Henry was likely to ever get from his eldest grandson, and he felt a sense of warmth flood through him. It didn’t last long; after a brief exchange of smiles, Dean buried himself in the fridge. However, Henry was left feeling lighter than he had in days.

He decided to do something with that, and set off to find his other grandson.

He found Sam in the first place he looked—the library. He seemed a little pale around the gills, but was thoroughly engrossed in his book. Which was, Henry noticed, craning his head to the side, about vampires. Since they didn’t seem to have any cases on the topic right now, it was probably just for a change of pace.

If that was his grandson’s idea of recreational reading… _well_. There was something a little wrong with everything lately.

“Hey,” he called gently as he approached his grandson, “How are you feeling?”

Sam looked up, and annoyance flickered across his features. “Dean sent you.” It wasn’t a question.

Henry sighed and sat across from his grandson, “No, actually, he didn’t.”

Sam pressed his lips together and looked unconvinced.

“He _didn’t_ , but we both know he’s concerned about you,” Henry insisted, “And so am I.”

Sam gave his grandfather a narrow-eyed glare, brow wrinkling in a way that was uniquely Sam.

“I’m also concerned about him,” Henry continued as though nothing had happened, “And Kevin. And this entire… situation.”

Sam gave a wry, humorless smile, “Yeah; you’ve got that bit right.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

Henry decided to bite the bullet, and sighed, looking down at the table, “I overheard you talking to Meg. Back at that warehouse, when we were warding the place. Right before… she was killed.” Sam shifted uncomfortably and put the book down. Henry looked up, “Amelia, was it?”

“Yeah,” his voice was a little thick.

“I’m sorry.”

“She’ll be fine without me.” Sam didn’t sound overly pleased at the idea.

Suddenly reminded of his family, Henry closed his eyes, “That doesn’t make it any easier, though.”

Sam glanced up sharply at his grandfather, “Yeah. It doesn’t. You probably know it better than anyone.”

Henry didn’t reply, just swallowed and looked back down.

“Henry,” Sam leaned forward slightly, “I don’t think either of us have thanked you properly. Like, out loud. So… Thanks. For… everything.”

Henry gave a faint smile and stood, “Well, we are family.”

Sam stood as well, the corners of his eyes crinkled with a matching smile. After a moment, however it faded, and Henry frowned in concern.

“How do you do it?” his younger grandson asked quietly, “Move on; let go.”

The Man of Letters shrugged helplessly, “I don’t think I have.”

“Yeah,” a strained smile that was more of a lengthening of his lips, flashed across his face, “I haven’t figured it out either.” After a moment of silence, he continued, “But, Dean… he doesn’t even try. I… The first time, he sold his soul. And… I just can’t live with the idea that he’d….” he stopped short and shook his head jerkily, “If I… don’t make it. I mean, if something happens, with the trials—and don’t… Don’t tell Dean I’m saying this, but… if I die. Will you…?” the hunter faltered and stopped, but his grandfather didn’t need him to finish the thought.

Henry reached out and touched Sam’s shoulder, “Of course.”

The world-worn hunter gave him a relieved smile, and after a moment, swept Henry into a warm hug. It wasn’t awkward or unnatural despite the fact that Henry had never even _seen_ either brother hug anyone. It was… right. It was _home_.

Sam let out something that was between a sigh and a huff of air that brushed against his grandfather’s neck.

Henry only hugged him tighter.


	3. Chapter 2: Introductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry meets his daughter-in-law and a certain prophet of the Lord.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I haven't forgotten about this fic! I've got ideas for all the future chapters. Actually writing them is turning out to be a little hard what with Life and Writer's Block --the horrible friends they are-- but more is on its way! Promise!

John was practically vibrating with nervous energy. Henry was surprised that the car hadn’t shaken apart. Now, as Henry stood by the front window watching his son extract himself from the driver seat of his truck (which he hated with a passion and had repeatedly vowed to replace), the entire neighborhood was practically shaking on its foundation in perfect synchronization to the young man’s nerves. A second later, a solid rock of calm to John’s uncertainty, a young woman, appeared from the opposite side of the battered old vehicle. She laid a calming hand on his arm and gave him a brilliant smile.

Inside, Henry couldn’t help the smile that came to his own face.  A light chuckled heralded the arrival of a familiar presence at his shoulder. Henry turned to find another smile on his wife’s face.

Millie’s eye’s twinkled, “Well, she already has my approval.”

Henry chuckled, “Yes, indeed. Anyone who can ground John has mine as well.”

For a moment they watched the young couple make their way towards the front door, quiet companionship reflected on both sides of the glass. The moment was broken when a timer dinged in the kitchen. Millie gave her husband another smile and patted him on the shoulder as she turned away, calling over her shoulder, “I better not see you in the kitchen tonight, Henry. No sneaking food before it’s done and no trying to help. Spend time with John and his girl.”

Henry rolled his eyes even though he knew she couldn’t see, “Yes, dear.”

Outside, John looked up and happened to lock eyes with his father. Uncharacteristically hesitant, he raised a hand in greeting. Henry just smiled fondly and moved to open the door.

“Hi, dad,” the young man looked so much younger—eyes full of hope.

“Hello, John,” Henry greeted warmly before turning to his son’s companion, “And you must be the mysterious woman my son has been trying not to say too much about.”

To Henry’s gratification, John turned a bright pink and hissed, “Dad!”

The woman just gave the two men a brilliant smile and extended a hand, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Winchester. I’m Mary Campbell.”

As Henry smiled warmly and shook her hand, three things happened simultaneously. First, he mused absently that one of the best hunter families bears the same name. Then he recalled hearing the name Mary a long time ago… from his grandsons. Their mother. Henry blinks, _This woman is a hunter, and my future daughter in-law._

“Dad?” John asked nervously, breaking through his shock, “Are you alright?”

Henry noted absently as he studied Mary’s face that he had not yet let go of her hand. “You don’t happen to be related to Samuel Campbell, do you?”

Suddenly, Henry found himself faced with two pairs of comically wide eyes. The young couple looked like deer frozen in the headlights of an oncoming car. Mary opened her mouth and promptly shut it. John glanced at her like a terrified animal.

Henry couldn’t help it. He burst out laughing.

The two turned and stared at him for a completely different reason.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he backed into the house, “come inside.” He winked at his son, “Your mother is making chili.”

* * *

Henry shifted uncomfortably in the back seat of his grandsons’ car as they turned down a deserted marina road in a small costal town. He was nervous. He didn’t really have any reason to _be_ nervous, except for the fact that this was his first time out of the bunker since his failed attempt to travel to the past. His grandsons had been handling him with care, and he was sick and tired of it. He had been stabbed, yes, but he was an adult!

That was why he was here, slowly getting out of the well-loved black car and trekking down a rickety wooden boardwalk to an old rusted freighter. They were checking on a prophet, apparently, who was just a teenager. Henry was not certain how he felt about Sam and Dean abandoning Kevin— even if it was in a _very_ hard to find hideout— when he would be much safer in the heavily-warded Men of Letter’s bunker.

At least the brothers cared. They were half mad with worry as they burst through the door, guns out, calling for Kevin. Henry stayed back, but kept an eye out for any trouble. Turns out there wasn’t any. Dean found the prophet heaving in the bathroom.

A few minutes later, they prophet was looking considerably better. He was still pale, but no longer had a green tinge. His nose bleed even stopped after a minute, with Sam forcing the teenager to drink a bottle of water.

Once he had his voice back, the first thing he asked was, “Who’s this guy?”

In perfect sync, Sam and Dean looked at Henry. “Uh,” Sam clear his throat, “Kevin, this is Henry. He’s… our, um…”

“Grandfather,” Dean cut in, rolling his eyes at his brother, “He’s our time-traveling demon-hunting grandpa.”

Kevin’s eye’s widened comically, “Time travel??” He looked to Henry himself, “Really?”

Henry nodded hesitantly, “Yes. It was the best idea I had to escape from Abaddon.”

“Let me guess,” Kevin turned back to the brothers, “another demon?”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed easily, “But she’s currently in several different pieces.”

The prophet let out a huge sigh, “Well, that’s a relief.” Seemingly satisfied, he turned in interest back to Henry, “Are you going back? To your time, I mean.”

Henry felt a huge stab of grief at the mention of his lost life, but pushed it aside. “No,” he replied, carefully neutral, “It appears that I’m trapped here.”

“That sucks,” the prophet said in great sympathy, “Do you know why?”

Henry smiled at the young man’s empathy. He believed he could come to like Kevin quite quickly. “No, but I have a few guesses. My top guess is that the timeline of events is too important… either my presence in the past would irreparably affect the lives of my son and grandson, or my presence here is too important for me to return.”

“That’s incredible,” he murmured in awe before interrupting himself with an avalanche of words, “I mean… it’s absolutely awful you can’t go back, and I’m not saying that—”

“That’s great, sparky, but let’s take a step back here,” Dean jumped in, “You look like crap, man.”

“Yeah…”

“You sleeping?” Sam asked with a frown.

“Not really,” Kevin answered hesitantly.

“You eating?” Dean raised his eyebrows.

“Hotdogs, mostly…”

“Yeah, uh, breakfast of champions.” Dean shook his head, “Listen, man, I’m gonna feel a little dirty saying this but… you might want a salad. And a shower.”

“Yeah I know. I’ve been getting bad headaches and nose bleeds—”

This time Henry interrupted, “If you came back to the bunker with us, I could make sure you’re taking care of yourself.” At his grandsons’ looks he shrugged, “What? You’re obviously not very happy about letting me out and about. At least this way I could be useful.”

“Yeah, that could work,” Sam ventured hesitantly.

Dean made a face, but clapped his hands, “Alright prophet-boy, let’s pack up your things. You can tell us what you found out on the road.”

Kevin looked faintly concerned, “Where are we going, exactly?”

Henry gave him a friendly smile, “To a secret, heavily warded bunker that was used by the Men of Letters for decades before they fled from Abaddon.”

Kevin’s eyes widened and he struggled to stand, “Ok.”

Henry couldn’t help but smile as he watched Sam hurry to stabilize the wobbly young man and Dean whipped out his phone to take pictures of Kevin’s wall of notes. Things were about to change for the stranded Man of Letters… hopefully for the better.


	4. Chapter 3: Cars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry fixes cars with one of the most important people in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. I hit a road block with this story. Here's another chapter. I make no promises as to when I will update next, but I PROMISE it WILL be finished.  
> Eventually.

The sun shone through the leaves of the tallest tree in the yard, casting spotted shadows across the pastel blue truck and the two individuals who stood huddled before its hood, one much smaller than the other. Henry held the sheet of metal up with one hand, pointing his shorter companion towards the metal stand. Full of youthful energy, his son reached for the piece and helped Henry prop the hood open before turning eager, expectant eyes on him.

“Now what?” John asked, nearly bouncing on his feet.

“Alright,” the Man of Letters smiled down at his son, “The engine has been overheating… what do we need to find?”

John frowned a bit in concentration, “The thing that cools the engine. That… That’s the radiator, right?”

“Right,” he smiled fondly at the twelve-year-old. “What would it be connected to?”

“The engine, obviously,” the boy rolled his eyes a bit.

“What else? What does it look like?” Henry continued prompting his son.

“It… it has a fan and… it’s connected to,” John paused frowning, “Yeah! It’s connected to the water pump! That’s how it cools the engine!”

Henry smiled proudly at his son, clapping him on the back before leaning over the engine and prompting him to find the radiator as best he could. John was practically glowing; it was wonderful for Henry to see. He had worked hard, learning everything he could about cars on his own before surprising Henry last Father’s Day with his knowledge. Since then, John had helped his father fix numerous cars and machines, but it had always been through Henry’s careful direction. _This_ time, Henry was just here to make sure he had support and an adult to do any of the more dangerous parts of the repair (Henry would rather not risk Millie’s ire); thus, the enthusiastic young boy was checking his knowledge with his father and beaming every time he got it right and could take the next step in fixing the family car.

It was a comforting pattern… carefully guiding John through the process of asking the right questions and performing the correct repairs, and praising his extraordinary son with every right answer. The weather was perfect, the work peaceful, and the company wonderful. Henry loved his son with all his heart, and every moment spent by his side was a blessing.

And in that moment, nothing else mattered.

* * *

The day was bright and warm, the bunker stifling in comparison. Henry found himself breathing in the fresh afternoon air with relief as he ventured from the confines of the sanctuary in his search for his second grandson (the first was crashed in bed). He didn’t have to look far; he simply followed the tracks from the garage, which lead him straight to his goal—the impala. It was a stunning sight, sunshine glinting off the its silver rims and heating the smooth back paint to an almost scorching temperature. The hood of the well-loved car was propped open, with a sliver of plaid visible to Henry as he approached from the side, revealing Dean’s presence. The Man of Letters cautiously skirted the hunter, moving to stand beside the battered red toolbox laying a few feet away from his grandson’s boots.

“She’s a beautiful car,” Henry commented after a few seconds of watching the hunter work in silence.

Dean straightened from under the hood, wiping a hand across his forehead, “Yeah, Baby’s something alright.”

Henry gave his grandson a slight smile, “How long have you owned her?”

The hunter gave him a toothy grin, tossing the wrench he was using into the toolbox, “My whole life.”

“Really?” the scholar stuck his hands in his pockets, head cocked to the side in interest.

“Yeah,” Dean looks off to the side at nothing, a wistful look on his face, “Dad bought it before we were born. She was home when nothin’ else was.”

Henry smiled back before turning to evaluate the car with new eyes. It gave a whole new meaning to the time Dean spent working on the beautiful car, how he always insisted on being the one to drive it, how Sam merely smiled and shook his head whenever Dean exclaimed about his ‘Baby’… It wasn’t just a car. John—his son—had bought this car long before Mary had died, before he and his own sons had been thrown into the punishing nomad lifestyle of a hunter. It was a tie to normalcy in a life of chaos.

Henry was broken out of his ponderance by a wrench being thrust in front of his face. A little startled, he glanced up at his grandson in confusion.

“You know your way around a car?” Dean asked, wiggling the wrench a little. The hunter was offering to let Henry work on his most prized possession. If that wasn’t a sign of trust, he didn’t know what was.

Henry’s eyes darted down to the wrench and he smiled, accepting the tool. “I’ve fixed a few,” he acknowledged, “But they were a little less advanced, if you know what I mean.”

Dean chuckled at that, a bright smile lighting up his eyes, “Don’t worry, gramps. I’ll walk you through it.”

The temporally displaced man heaved an exaggerated sigh. “I do wish you’d stop calling me that,” he complained as he had so often before, although the annoyance was more for show than anything else now.

Dean gave his grandfather a blinding grin, obviously seeing the act for what it was. “You know you like it, gramps,” he teased. “Now come help me rotate Baby’s tires.”

Henry chuckled and moved to do as told, helping Dean dig out the scissor jack and begin propping up the first corner of the car. For a while they made small talk, carefully avoiding the many pressing issues their family were currently facing—Sam’s recent trip to hell and his declining health, Castiel going AWOL with his misguided quest… it didn’t matter. Instead they talked about the good times, the history of this resilient car, and the days spent on the road with just the three Winchester boys.

Henry fell into a comforting pattern, carefully following Dean’s lead as they fixed his precious car. The weather was perfect, the work peaceful, and the company wonderful. Henry had become inordinately attached to both of his grandsons in the time he had spent trapped in the future, and every moment spent by their side was a blessing.

And in that moment, nothing else mattered.


End file.
